When We Meet
by MinnieSoleil
Summary: The things we do when we meet. A tale about a leather belt and the occasional cotton candy. ADULT CONTENT. BDSM. CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED. Short story.
1. Introduction

**The following is what happens when you're stuck with your main story and pulling out your hair constantly. Lonely nights and too much James Deen will also do this to you. Could also be that a certain person is not providing you with tasteful erotic movies anymore and all that's left for you to do is watch five minute fragments on xvideos(dot)something. **

**It's gonna be a short story, maybe twelve chapters, told first in Bella's POV and then Edward's.**

**KINKY. ADULT READERS ONLY. 21+**

**Not for the faint-hearted – at least that's what my beta mcc101180 told me. And since I listen to my girl, this is your warning.**

**If you're not a good girl and hate leather belts striking your bum, please leave. Now. **

**Contains BDSM.**

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><p><em><strong>When We Meet<strong>_

_**Part I**_

_**Bella**_

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><p>When we meet, there is no kissing.<p>

When we meet, there is no cuddling, either.

There is nothing remotely sweet about our meetings. Still the goal is our mutual pleasure. And you provide plenty of that. Go figure.

But sometimes ... just sometimes ... your touch is soft and sweet. Just like the touch of a lover. Even if it's just your warm hand, soft like a feather on the small of my naked back, holding me in place, or your lingering hand on the side of my neck, grounding me, reassuring. Sometimes your fingers would softly run down my spine. Sometimes you'd hold my face between your hands and kiss the top of my head. Sometimes I get lost in your eyes.

And sometimes, when we're done – when I lie next to you, trying hard to fall asleep – I wish we _would_ cuddle. I wish you _would_ kiss me, let me feel that soft looking lips of yours. Sometimes I'm starving for your lips.

But instead, I lie there next to you most nights, our bodies not touching an inch – even though we share a small blanket – except for when you accidentally throw your arm around me in your sleep. It's just that: an accident. I lie awake until the morning comes creeping through your curtains and prepare to leave, as I usually do. I will come back to you next week, no doubt about it. I always do. And then I'll leave again; wishing for more.

We're not lovers.

We have an agreement.

I should be grateful, and I am – after all, you're doing me a favor.

But I want _more_.

So much more.

I want all or nothing.

And since I can't have it all...

...I settle for your leather belt.

For now.


	2. October 1st

**I don't own Twilight. Or anything for that matter.**

**There will be spanking. I warned you. No complaints, pretty please.**

_**Bella**_

_**October 1**__**st**__** 2011**_

For the first time in a couple of weeks, I leave the small town I live in to go to the city. It's a one hour train ride that I spend looking forward to meeting my best friend. I'm giddy. We're invited to a birthday party a good friend of ours is throwing. I don't go out very often. I'm a loner in fact. Especially since my best friend lives five hours away from the city, and I don't get to see her as much as I would like. I don't click with many people to be honest. But this weekend, we decide to have fun. Then again, we always have when we're together. But even though she is one of the few people closest to my heart, there are things about me that I can't bring myself to tell her.

She's sweet and pure, responsible and a bundle of energy.

Whereas I... am not.

She knows all about my annoying habits, my depression and my many sexual conquests that always end in disaster. She knows me inside and out, except for one single thing: my deepest, darkest desire.

In her presence, I feel tainted.

This party is lame. It really is. We spent hours getting all dolled up, drinking a bottle of wine in the process. I was buzzed and happy, and now I'm annoyed to my core– surrounded by drunk boys winking at me as if they had a seizure. Though most of the guests in this club are probably in their early twenties, I feel ancient besides them with my twenty-nine years – utterly out of place. My best friend is having a blast. I don't know how she does it. The guys are childish and kind of rude. So much that it makes me want to slap them into silence. I do what I always do in situations like these: I drink some more and retreat into my own head, watching the people around me having fun as I silently let my own fantasies play like a movie in my head. It's a movie of the xxx persuasion. Just to be clear.

A few drinks later, my friend drags me outside to have a smoke. And I go willingly. My buzzed ass could use a cigarette and some fresh air, and quite frankly, I'm sick of the douches attending this party. I'm just too old for beer pong and crappy music and an awkward grope to my ass followed by an overused pick-up line.

Opening the back door, it is then that I see _you – _in all your stylish yet rugged attire.

We all know you. Well, my friends do – I just know _of_ you. Though I've seen you occasionally at parties, we've never spoken a word to each other. There was no need. You're running in the in-crowd, while I'm just running scared. Tonight is different. Tonight, something about you draws me in, makes me really notice you, makes me want to sit next to you on that bench and smoke, when usually I walk past you. Your penetrating gaze always made me uncomfortable. I guess you're about my age, maybe a few years older. You just give off that vibe: mature, but still silly at times. You, too, are watching what goes on around you, quietly contemplating. Then your eyes fall on me. We watch each other. Wary. From head to toe, you check me out. Possibly making assumptions. When my best friend takes a seat to your left – ultimately breaking the ice – I take a seat to your right. You smell so good it makes me dizzy or maybe it's the three Cuba Libres I've practically inhaled in the past half hour. I like sitting next to you either way.

Just as I'm about to reach out a finger and sneakily touch that soft looking grey T-shirt you're wearing, the mood changes. I don't know how or why, but your happy chatter with my best friend switches to things that make my ears perk up. And funny that it's my sweet, pure Alice that changes the polite questions like "how are you?" and "what have you been up to lately?" to a completely different topic. A topic so foreign to me and so much desired at the same time it makes my heart race. Apparently Alice wants to go to a well-known fetish club here in the city. Who would have thought? I guess there are things I didn't know about her, either. I'm certainly stunned, but it's your reaction that interests me the most for some reason and why you're being so quiet all of a sudden, watching me like I have grown two heads, when it wasn't even my suggestion. Your playful smile is gone as you look at her and then at me intently. Seconds or even minutes pass in silence and then you tell Alice or me or maybe us both in a cold voice: _that's not your scene_. Period. Just like that the topic is dismissed. It's like a slap to the face at first – rejection – and then things start to click in my head. You've given me a few puzzle pieces about you. Not much, but enough to let me know you've been to that club. Enough to let me hope that maybe, just maybe, you _are_ into these things. It can't be a coincidence that I'm sitting here right now next to you discussing a fetish club, can it? Maybe faith is throwing me a bone, so I decide to be bold. For once in my life, I dare to take a step forward and tell you that you can't be sure about it not being our scene. Don't judge a book by its cover and all that crap. My friend – with her attention span of a fly – is bored with the topic already and heads back inside. I stay rooted next to you, firmly, staring into your eyes, trying desperately to give you a sign without having to say things out loud. But that's not how things work with you. It seems like I somehow caught your attention, and you start asking me things. _Have you ever been there? Do you want to go there? Are you sure about that? _Your voice is hypnotizing.

It's now or never. Two years of fantasizing and yearning have to be enough to make me want to turn them into reality, no? So I find myself confiding in you – a stranger for all intents and purposes – telling you how I have dreamed about being dominated for quite a while now, but that I lack any experience in that field. I just want to make sure, you know? See if it's all just in my head... God bless Cuba Libre for making me feel so bold. I tell you about my Fetlife account, where I talk to people in the scene every now and then, and you look at me like I've completely lost my mind. I probably have. You chastise me for seeking out men over the internet. Yeah... As if I would actually do such a thing, but I guess you don't know me that well. Obviously. I'm just glad I found someone in real life to talk to about these things.

In my buzzed state, I don't think any of it as you ask me over and over again if I would trust you – pointing out that all my friends know you. I don't get the meaning of your words, but I nod my head anyway. You're intoxicating, sitting so close to me. And when you ask me for the fifteenth time if I'm really sure I want to try this, I kind of scream in your face _Yes. Yes. Yes. _My patience is wearing thin. I want to talk some more about it, in depth and maybe get to finally run my fingers through your messy hair.

So when you want me to take a walk with you, I am all eager. Finally we're going to talk about my desires without all those nosy people around us staring. There will be no beer pong, no awkward gropes, just a serious talk between two adults.

And boy, am I wrong.

It's just a short walk. Or that's what it feels like to me, since I'm vibrating with energy and don't pay much attention to my surroundings. That is until you lead me to a tiny park, here in the middle of the city. Just a few steps away from the party. We're separated from the rest of the world by only some bushes. I can hear the traffic nearby, people laughing, talking, partying. Someone is peeing into the bushes, but it's all just a blur to me.

If that's where you want to talk some more, who am I to argue? It doesn't even occur to me as to what you really have in mind, until your voice rings out to me. Gone is the playful tone from earlier. It's so much deeper now and commanding. Alluring. Short, direct sentences. No room for arguments as you tell me to face a tree and brace my hands against it. Okay, then. On unsteady feet, I move, not really thinking twice about my actions. Am I startled? A bit, yes, but I don't question you. When you tell me to arch my back and push my ass out, I do just that. My head feels fuzzy. My actions are shy and tentative. But when I feel the adrenaline rush into my system, my brain shuts off and I obey. I feel your hands on my backside; your warmth seeping through my clothes. Your fingers push my dress up, yank my tights down along with my panties. I feel the chilly air on my butt. It gives me goose bumps and my breathing picks up. You tell me I have a gorgeous body. But you don't leave me much time to appreciate the compliment. There's a smack to be heard and a millisecond later it registers in my brain or rather on my ass, that your hand just landed on my bare behind. Quite hard. It stings. I moan and that's not a conscious decision. Over and over again you slap me, barely leaving me time to catch my breath. All I can do is feel the sting, feel my skin heating up and I try to wrap my head around all of this. It's not until you tell me to be quiet that I become aware of just how loudly I'm moaning. In the middle of a park. Outside. For everyone to hear. Huh. Interesting. Then I feel your hand between my legs. Rubbing me. I hear the wetness that gathered there as your fingers slide through my folds. Interesting. You wrestle your hands underneath my dress. Up, up, up until you reach my breasts. There's tugging on my nipples and it hurts. I moan. Your touch is anything but soft, nevertheless it's skilled. You know exactly where to touch, you know exactly how hard to squeeze. I can't help it; I moan.

_Turn around. On your knees_, you say. And I find myself before you on my knees just a second after that command left our mouth. Looking at your feet, I see your jeans pooling there. When did you get them off? Up, up, up my eyes wander until I see your cock. Erect and oh so beautiful. _Suck_, you tell me. My mouth engulfs you. Warm and hard meets soft and wet. You're big. I gag. You turn me around to my previous position. My brain can't keep up, but I arch my back anyway when you tell me so. There's rustling and seconds later you slide into me. You feel so, so good. I feel good, I feel free. You slap my ass some more and it hurts, hurts, hurts. So good. While you pound into me from behind and slap my ass at the same time, I feel my orgasm approaching hard and fast. It's unlike something I've ever felt before. And geez, your hand must hurt my now. It's too much. It's not enough. Tears well up in my eyes. It hurts, it feels too good, it hurts, I tell you to stop. I find myself in your strong arms immediately, sobbing into your shirt, feeling utterly glorious at the same time. You hug me for a long time and it makes me smile. I tremble. You squeeze me even tighter.

When we part you hug me again, tell me to look you up on Facebook.

It's what I do first thing the next morning. I thank you. For making a fantasy come true, I don't tell you that, though. You ask me for a repeat performance.

Somehow the sun shines brighter today.

And I know I am hooked.

My ass is on fire, but I am hooked.


	3. October 10th

**I don't own Twilight, but I am flying high on cough medicine right now. **

**Warnings, bla bla, ect.**

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><p><em><strong>October 10<strong>__**th**__**, 2011**_

_**Bella  
><strong>_

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><p>Last week we exchanged cell phone numbers on Facebook and we've chatted a bit since then. I told you my ass doesn't sting anymore. I didn't like it one bit. The bruises you left faded way too soon. I looked at them in my bathroom mirror over and over again. They made me smile and now, since they're gone, it's confusing how much I miss them. I just got used to this glorious feeling, and it's gone way too soon. I told you how I hate this feeling. I feel empty. I feel restless. You told me to come over. Nothing more, nothing less. You'd rectify the situation, you said.<p>

I'm a situation.

I guess I am. I can't think of much these days except for your bare hand on my too willing flesh.

And here I am on the train. On my way to you. One hour ride and I'm squirming in my seat. I can't distract myself. Doubt plagues me, but neediness wins. For the last few days, I've been wet constantly. Whenever I thought about the things we did. Whenever I touched my hands to my ass to feel the welts.

I want it again.

I want it harder.

It's confusing.

It's making my head spin and my pulse race.

8 o'clock you said. On the dot. I'm standing in front of your building for the very first time. Nice neighborhood.

I'm early. Ten minutes. I don't dare to ring your bell just yet, so I walk around a little. Outside in the cold. My nerves are shot to shit, seeking for a distraction, but my nipples are hard, poking against my bra. Goose bumps appear on my whole body when I think of what's to come. I'm freezing, but sweating at the same time. I'm nervous, but aroused beyond belief.

As soon as my phone declares it's 8 o'clock, I ring your bell. You leave me waiting. Ass. You're doing this on purpose. I ring again. And when you finally press the buzzer...

... the door is stuck.

Fucking hell.

It won't open for the life of me. My mood sinks. You'll have to come down to let me in, and you live on the 8th floor. No elevator. Ugh. I'm failing already. After what seems forever, the door finally opens and there you are in grey sweat pants that hang low on your hips, smiling at me. Brightly. Not looking stern, or disappointed. You smile and hug me hello. I feel better instantly. I feel warm inside. I want to hold you tight in my arms, feel the naked skin that is not covered by your flimsy wifebeater, but I refrain from doing so.

Once we're seated on your couch, we chat. This and that. That and this. Oh God, this is awkward. We smoke a cigarette. You're a good host, offering drinks and snacks. I don't want any of that.

I kind of regret coming here. I don't really know you, never mind that we had sex, but I'm just so nervous. You can tell by my fidgeting. I just don't know how to talk to you. About normal things...

_Did you like my hand on your ass? _You ask me.

Better topic_. _Oh yes, I did. More than you can possibly know. I tell you I'm confused. What am I doing here and when does our session actually start?

_Whenever I give you the first command_, you say, and you do just that. Telling me to stand up, go to your closet and stand against it. Facing you. I'm there in a heartbeat. Like you told me. Again. This is insane. I think I'm blinking my eyes like a moron, but your apartment looks nice.

_Strip,_ you say.

Where to start, where to start? You help me. Your hands fumbling with the buttons of my jeans. I guess I'll take off my top then? Do something? Anything? But no. You're in charge, you decide. That's what I came here for. No thinking on my part, just obeying. I keep my hands limb at my side. You take off the rest of my clothes. Slowly. Piece by piece. When I'm completely nude, you turn me around. I'm trembling; my legs threaten to give out, and we haven't even started yet. When my arms are braced against a hard surface, back arched, butt sticking out for you, my mind calms down immediately. All I have to do is wait for further command. I feel your hands. You're stroking me. Softly. Just your fingertips. Up my back. Down again. You squeeze my butt and let your hands wander down my legs. Up and down. Again and again. Over and over. I feel your warmth. Your soft jeans clad legs rub against my bare ones. From top to bottom. you stroke me. Then between my legs. I'm shaking for you. You're not surprised to feel my arousal there as it seems. I, however, am surprised to feel your hand landing hard on my ass. It stings. I moan. Oh God, finally! I've missed this the last few days. There's no shame inside of me as I let go of my whimpers and moans. Over and over again. More, more, more. You hold a small, thin and velvety looking belt into my line of vision, seeking my approval. You got it. I nod. I want it. I need it. I feel the side of your face against mine, your warmth, your breath, your beard as you're leaning into the side of my face to look into my eyes. Making sure. I _am_ sure and after nod of my head, you deliver promptly. And _ouch_ does that thing sting. It hurts more than your bare hand. Again and again, the belt strikes my skin. I practically feel the bruises forming on my tender skin. More, more, more until I can hardly stand it anymore. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. My hands are balled into fists. But unlike the first time, there are no tears in my eyes tonight. I don't tell you to stop. I'm a good girl. I take it, without much fuss. Sure, I flinch every now and then, but the need to be your good girl wins. I need to be. And when you have your fill of striking my ass, you lead me to your couch, laying me down softly on my back. You settle between my thighs, and I feel your desire pushing into me. Strong and commanding. Hard and fast. You make me scream and shake in a matter of seconds. And though I hear you moan softly, it doesn't escape me that you don't look me in the eyes. At all. Your eyes are glued to your hands that are squeezing my nipples really hard.

Ugh.

When we're done, we watch TV. Side by side on your couch. It's weird and then again it feels like home. Not much is said. There is no need. We're both content. I more so than you could ever know. I spend the night curled at your feet in your tiny bed. I'm not really sleeping. I'm counting the minutes until it's 07:00 AM and I have to get up. Go to the station, catch my train home and go to work. My alarms goes off too soon, and yeah, I didn't even sleep for a couple of minutes. I go to freshen up. You pour me coffee, we chat, you check the bruises, you hug me good bye. It's weird. And then I'm on the train with a big smile on my face and your smell in my nose.

As soon as I'm sitting at work, in front of my computer,

I want to go back.

To you, to your hand, to your belt.

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><p><strong>AN: **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

**Thanks to my beta Mel, who didn't get a warning, unlike you all.**


	4. October 21st

_**I don't own Twilight but i do own a great wine cellar.**_

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><p><em><strong>Bella<strong>_

_**October 21**__**st**__** 2011**_

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><p>It's even worse than after my first spanking. This feeling of emptiness. Though you used some kind of belt on me the last time we met, there were never any bruises. There was no stinging on my ass when I woke up the next morning. I feel sad about it. I'm utterly confused. You're not supposed to get off on the things we did, but I do... so much. There is some guilt, yeah, but mainly I just hate the fact that there is no reminder for me. No sting whenever I sit on a chair. No sting whenever I'm moving around, jeans rubbing against my skin. No bruises shaped like your hand to look at and to touch. I miss it. I want that glorious feeling back.<p>

I told you as much in a text to your cell phone yesterday. I wrestled hard with myself. I don't want to come across all needy and clingy, but I _am_ in need. You told me to come over today, told me to bring my toys. Anything that I'd want you to use on me. You want to see what kind of fantasies I have. Immediately I'm disappointed in myself. I don't own any kinky stuff. Just my vibe and some clothespins. I packed them anyway. And my wooden hairbrush. Just in case. The way we communicate like it's a business meeting only bothered me just for a second. I don't expect you to call me baby, but I do wonder why we never call each other by our names. Briefly.

This time my train ride is much calmer, even if every minute seems to pass at a snail's pace. I know what awaits me. Somewhat. I do know, that you'll be good to me, however. In the most wicked way. That I know for sure.

As I sit here on the train again, I close my eyes, recalling the glimpses of your body I stole the last time – stealthy, I might add. Your naked chest, your strong thighs, your firm butt. The various tattoos scattered across your lean body that I wanted to run my tongue over. I wanted to touch them so badly, with my tongue, with the tips of my fingers, but I didn't know if I'm supposed to. Don't know if I may touch you at all, other than the times you tell me to. Which is on your cock. Mostly.

It's easier to ring your bell this time, as I'm standing in front of your building. Anticipation, excitement. The door works now. I get it open, and I remember which way to go to get to your apartment. Every step I take up the stairs heightens my desire. One minute I'm anxious to meet you and then comes regret again. It's not right what I'm doing, is it? I'm being my usual whorish self. But at least this way I get to come too, so it can't be that wrong, can it? I have no desire to meet any other men anymore. I found what I was searching for the past years, though I didn't know exactly what I was searching for. Now I know. It's you. Or your firm hand. I don't know. Maybe both.

It's the usual, when you open the door for me. A tight hug, a chat and then I tell you I want to go freshen up.

_Lose your clothes while you're at it_, you tell me.

This is a command, so I know exactly what to do. And once I'm in your bathroom, I rip my clothes off. No hesitation. There's a vibe in my bag – fully charged – along with my clothespins. I brought four. I don't know why, but I do know that you'll make good use of them. I may not know much about you, but this I know for sure. A deep breath and I exit your bathroom naked, but not vulnerable at all. Toys in hand, I walk toward you, handing you the things. I see a twinkle in your eyes, but you don't let me dwell on that for long as you tell me to drop to my knees. On all fours.

Huh?

_Now_, you tell me.

My posture is sloppy. Mind you, I've never done this before, but your warm hand on my back shows me exactly how you want me. In what way you want my back arched. You guide me.

_Crawl to the fridge_, you tell me.

For a split second, I hesitate, but as you stand beside me, fully clothed, guiding my movements, I feel so treasured. You keep me company all the way. Your hand lays softly on the small of my back and warms me from the inside as I crawl just for you. Only you.

_Open it_, you say. _Fetch a bottle of water. _

I do as I'm told. Your fridge is fully stocked, unlike mine. Though everything is just a blur, I hold the bottle of water out for you. When you put it on my back, it gives me chills.

_Crawl to the chair._

Geez, I love the dominant tone in your voice. Cue the goose bumps and the hard floor beneath my limbs.

There is just one chair in this room. Slowly, one foot forward, the other follows, it's the same with my hands, while I try to balance the bottle on my back as to not drop it on my way. The bottle is gone as soon as I reach my goal, and you tell me to kneel on your white leather revolving chair. I am to face the back rest, bracing my arms on it. No hesitation, I tell myself. I already know you'll be good to me. Oh so good. Once in position, you stroke every inch of my skin you can reach. Front, back, doesn't matter. You're warming me up. You give me goose bumps all over. Then you're gone and I hear rustling. What are you up to? I'm so curious, but I keep my eyes locked to the floor.

Waiting.

But not for long when I feel clothespins on my nipples. They're tight, they sting. I love it. What I don't anticipate, though, is the same sting on my lower lips as you attach two pins there. I'd say it hurts, but there's also pleasure to be gained from it. So much pleasure. My vision goes dark as you tie a scarf around my head, robbing me of a sense.

You're gone again.

I wait.

Patiently.

One minute, two minutes.

A buzzing sound rips me out of my short rest. I know what this is; I heard this sound a lot in my many lonely nights. You hold my vibe to my clit. It's the lowest vibration. A warm-up to what's to come. As soon as I feel tingly all over, you remove the toy and something comes down hard on my ass. A resounding slap.

Caused by a...

... leather belt?

Gosh, it stings. Really bad. More please. You deliver. Just like I expect you to. You've not disappointed me thus far. A few more beatings and suddenly the belt lands on an area I didn't see coming. Right between my legs. Where the clothespins are still attached. I howl. So loudly. This is pain. Real pain. My skin breaks out in a sweat, I'm panting. It doesn't faze you at all. You just tell me in that haunting voice of yours to stay quiet, slapping away merrily on my ass again, while your other hand pushes down on the small of my back, keeping me arched for you. I count the strikes. Not out loud. Just in my head. I'm breathing through the pain. I breathe, breathe, breathe until there is no more belt, just you spinning me around in that chair. Something warm and soft touches my face, my cheek, my mouth, nudging it open. Your cock. You want me to suck your cock. And I do. Though I can't see anything, I can very well feel. Your thick cock finds its way into my mouth. It makes me proud. I suck. And when you put your hands on both sides of my neck, I know what's to come. You're going to choke me on it. Testing my limits. Softly at first, but stronger each and every time you push in, until you hold yourself there. Buried deep into my throat. It brings tears to my eyes. It cuts off my air supply. I love every second of it. I gag and I gag. I want more. And when you remove my blindfold, I see the two tattooed stars decorating your hip bones. And nothing matters other than your cock deep in my mouth robbing me of my air. I'll learn to take it soon enough. I gag some more. I want to vomit and you tell me:

_Go ahead, I don't mind. Vomit if you must._

But I don't and when you let me come up for air, I'm glowing, proud of myself, breathing hard and smiling at the same time. I make the mistake of looking you in the eye, though. Wanting to see if you're as proud of me as I am of myself. That earns me a soft slap to my face, followed by a stern,

_You don't look me in the eyes_.

My pussy twitches. There's more spanking. You make sure I get the bruises I want and need, to remind me for the following days of what we did. Just like I asked you to. With each slap, my arousal grows. I want you. Now. I can't even feel the pain the clothespins cause on my pussy and nipples anymore. I just want you to take me. Here, now, hard. Take me. You do. On your couch again. From behind. I stick my ass up high in the air for you, while you push my shoulders down into the cushions. I'm bent beyond my abilities and love every second of it.

Until I scream.

Until you moan softly.

Until we're done.

Once you've finished, you call it time out. I call it over too soon. We're both still panting, when you flip your switch. From Dom to buddy. We chat, we watch TV, we laugh, you eat sweets.

You have a sweet tooth. I store that knowledge into my need-to-know-about-you file. Not sure why. I admire your still naked body, and you show me videos on your cell phone. Things you do for your job. Dressing models, attending parties. It's your side job. You're thirty-two years old. You're studying business administration. You have startling green eyes. You don't touch me when playtime is over. We sit miles apart on your tiny couch. You tell me about your favorite TV shows, about your friends. I don't have much to tell you about myself. My life is dull. Not like yours. And though I want to know more about you, I don't like it very much when you tell me you were all flirty-flirty with a model last weekend on a job. Thankfully she turned out to be only seventeen. I'm not sure how I feel about that exactly. There's a goofy grin on my face anyway. It's satisfaction. I have a hard time breathing like a normal person.

This night, I'm not sleeping curled at your feet. Not quite. I dare to take a little more room for myself. Your hand falls on my back in your sleep, warming me. I wonder what it would be like to cuddle you, to feel your arms tightly around me. But that's not in the cards for me, I guess. So I'm content. Or try to be. Until the morning comes. Until I have to catch my train to ride back to the dull small town I came from. Back to my usual life, that I've come to hate every second of. I don't get much sleep. In fact I don't get any sleep at all. I listened to the buzzing of your fridge until my alarm went off.

But I'm glad we have this silent agreement. Glad you're showing me something I've desired for so long. I'm glad we have this arrangement. I just don't like you being flirty. Kind of. Not when you're not flirting with me.

On the train, I squirm around in my seat so that my bum stings. It makes me feel better at once. I love this stinging. And when I think about our morning ritual: a coffee, a hug good bye and a promise to do this again soon, there is nothing else for me to wish for...

other than a hug

or maybe a kiss.

Maybe.


	5. October 24th

**Twilight is not mine.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Bella<strong>_

_**October 24th 2011**_

* * *

><p>It's Monday.<p>

Sometime around lunch I get a text from you. Startling me, making my heart race. Making me unable to concentrate on my work any longer. Making my panties useless in a matter of a few heartbeats.

You ask me when we can see each other again.

_I __miss __it,_ you wrote.

Not me. _It_. The things we do. I hesitate. Contemplating. The bruises on my ass haven't really healed yet. I can still feel them, and frankly my ass looks like a crime scene from CSI. Red and blue marks, shaped like your hands, a few shaped like your teeth are spread across my cheeks. After all, it's been only three days since you hit me for an hour with a heavy leather belt and bit the fleshy parts of my cheeks with gusto. Making me scream with pleasure. Repeatedly. And again.

It's been everything I could think about the last days. This stingy feeling on my butt makes me smile and all warm inside each and every single time I sit down. The word treasured comes to mind. So no... nothing can possibly stop me from seeing you again, I guess.

_It's __rather __short __notice_, you text me, _but __can __you __come __over? __Today? __Please?_

Yes. Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes. A thousand times, I can't resist you.

It's not the text message I sent you, though. My text says: _yes.__8__pm __as __usual? __I'll __be__ there._

Usual time, usual place. Why am I being this distant with you via text message when you've seen me naked and at my most vulnerable? I don't know, but I _do_ know that I need to tell you one more thing. The one thing that's been on my mind constantly since I've met you. I tell you I want a hug this time – after you beat my ass raw, of course. After you fuck me so good I don't know my own name anymore.

It's not easy for me to ask this of you, but a really strong hug is what I want. Preferably your fingers running down my spine, too. Over and over again.

I read on Fetlife, that aftercare is really important. You kind of need a soft human touch to come down from your endorphin high after someone inflicted pleasurable pain on your ass that has you panting and screaming with delight. I need it to get me back down to earth, frankly I need it to not feel like a whore. At least that's what I try to think. In all honesty, I just want to feel your warm skin against me, your arms, and your soul wrapped around me. I want to count every single mole on your entire body. I want to kiss your lips. Repeatedly. I think.

_You __got __it_, is your response. A smily is attached.

After work, I sprint home as fast as I can, pulse racing. I shower, I pack my things, and once again, I'm on my way over to you. As if it's the most natural thing to do. As if it's natural that my heart beats in overdrive for you. _That_ certainly is _not_ natural. But it is to me right now, like breathng. I know I want it; want you. But I also have the feeling that this kind of arrangement won't last very long. A creepy feeling, if you ask me. Though there's no denying: I love all the degrading things I let you do to me, but I miss certain things as well. The urge to kiss you or at least touch you is stronger each time I see you. I've set myself up for another heart ache, haven't I? I'm fairly sure of that, given the fact that we sleep miles apart in your tiny bed. An impossibility when you really think about it.

Anyhow, nothing can keep me away from you and your punishing hand that can be softer than cotton candy at times. I even bought your favorite sweets since you ran out last time. You're kind of a grouch without your sugar intake, but it's not a bribe. I'm just torn. Torn between what's right and wrong. I just want to please you, and at this point, this is really wrong of me. Yeah, the things you do to me feel so right, incredible in fact, but I don't like being a dirty little secret on the side. I know you have millions of friends. Mostly women. Gorgeous women here and there. Spamming your wall on Facebook every day. Comes with your job. Comes with you being ridiculously handsome. And I guess you don't go around telling everyone that you like to beat girls with a heavy leather belt. I know I don't even admit to my best friends that I get off on being spanked. I wouldn't mind being all vanilla with you, that's for sure.

I know we have this thing together, a thing we haven't named actually, but I'm not blind to the fact that you're getting something on the side. Hell, you don't even try to hide it. Not very well, at least. Telling me vaguely every time I'm with you. And for the life of me, I can't figure out why I'm still seeing you. Yes, you showed me that I'm indeed into the kinky stuff. And yes, you're attractive. And yes, you fuck me so good. Yes, you got my hormones out of control...

… but I should move on and find a real Dom, no? Or rather a boyfriend who likes to spank my naughty ass into submission. Someone who'd also be willing to make it official with me, someone who'd be willing to kiss me, cuddle me, stroke my back and listen to me rambling about how sucky work is day in and day out. Someone who accepts my obsession with a certain vampire tale. That's not too much to ask, or is it?

But somehow I feel so safe with you. I'm attracted to you, of course, who wouldn't be? You're handsome. You're sexy. You're intelligent. You make me laugh. You're all I've ever wanted in a man...

And damn it. Here I am. In front of your building again. Too soon. And way too soon, I ring your bell with shaking fingers.

It's getting easier and easier to talk to you. And I don't just mean about the kinky things we do. In general. You're a good guy. Really. A rare specimen. I want to kick myself in the ass, because I might be falling for you. Or it's just lust and I'm simply confusing these two. God knows. _I_ certainly do not. I tell myself to keep a clear head, but you're making it so damn hard when you're playful and funny with me. Or how you offer me something to drink, to eat. How you walk around in those low slung sweat pants, showing off your hip bones and your tight ass. How your eyes seem to sparkle when you look my way as I sit all awkward on your couch. Squirming. At this point, I'd rather you would have ravished me right upon my entry, made me kneel by your feet for you or whipped my ass raw instead of being this nice.

A few minutes later, that's just what you do.

_Lose __your __clothes, __kneel __there_.

Ahh. The first command. Funny how your voice drops a whole octave when you're in Dom mode. Ugh. It gives me chills. Right down to my bones. Every little hair on my body stands on attention for you as I strip like a clumsy amateur for you. Not sure how you want me, where you want me, but you don't keep me guessing for long.

Your strong hand on the small of my back, guiding me carefully, lets me know the revolving chair of yours is my goal again. Once I'm there, kneeling for you, my butt literally in your face, there is no build up, no squeezing my tense shoulders, no running your finger tips over my body – just pure, raw lust as your bare hand connects with my ass. It's hard to keep this position for you. My back is arched, my legs shake. My cheeks are burning with the slaps you deliver. Without warning. I don't know what has you so agitated but I can surely feel it. I take it anyhow. Biting my tongue. After all, it's what I'm here for, no? You make up for the pain when you push my vibe into me. Slowly and gently. No surprise I'm already sloppy wet for you. The highest setting is what you aim for. I guess we're done with my newbie treatment as I hear the telltale click of my lube tube being opened. Your slick fingers then explore my ass. Surprising me, making me break out in a sweat. With my head lowered I can see the flush on my breasts. My breathing is erratic. It'S not like I've never done this before, but I am on sensory overload with you, even more so when your cock claims my ass. It's a rather uncomfortable position here, kneeling in this chair. Swaying forward, backward, with every thrust you make.

I wouldn't want to change a single thing, not even when I want you to choke me on your cock again right now. I loved it the last time you did, though you weren't sure I really liked it. Trust me, I did. The way it feels when you let me come up for air is out of this world. You should have known by the glint in my eyes. There's nothing of this sort for me now. Just you fucking my ass and twisting my nipples, as the vibe buzzes merrily away in my pussy. It makes me cum, yes. Very hard. You always do, but today it doesn't seem to get me rid of the feeling of being used. It's nagging in my brain. Somewhere in the shadows. This is all wrong... What am I doing here?

And when we're done, you hug me. Tightly. Like I requested. For three seconds. You even kiss my shoulder lightly. And although this should comfort me, it doesn't. It doesn't feel right, feels forced. I don't like it one bit. I try to wipe the feeling off my mind. It's relaxing time now. And I am relaxed. The orgasms you provide make sure of that, but my mind can't seem to shut the fuck up. We watch TV, you eat sweets, you show me pictures on your phone. You tell me funny stories. YOu're trying to catch your breath as much as I do. I think I'm definitely falling for you. A tiny bit. You're just too adorable when you're not in Dom mode. Cute as a button. In a very manly way, of course. I am content, but I'd rather be content with my head in your lap. Your fingers stroking my hair.

Despite all things that might be lacking, everything is cozy until you spy the huge bruise on my right arm. Your face suddenly lacks all color.

_Did __I __do __that __to __you?_ you ask. I can tell you're appalled, and I tell you no, I ran into a door the other day. Funny how you like to bruise my ass with a belt until it's black and blue, and yet you worry about such a little thing like that. Weird. I let you do the most degrading things to me, love them actually, and this is what creeps you out.

_Well,__ I __didn't __know. __Maybe __you__ have __someone __to __dominate __you __at __home__ who __caused __that_, you say.

No, baby. I don't think I'd be here with you if I had someone like that at home and that's exactly what I tell you. The look in your eyes is hard to read. Are you glad about it? Disappointed? Is it too much pressure to be handling me? Can you tell by the look in my eyes that I might feel things that we didn't agree upon? It doesn't matter. You suggest we see each other again at the beginning of next week.

This night we sleep side by side. I'm not huddling at your feet, no. I can feel you breathing down my neck. Steadily. Not letting my speeding pulse slow down for a second. We're not touching, of course. But I want to. I want to reach out my hands, touch your face. Every inch I can get my hands on. Or turn around and push my ass into your groin. I just want to feel you.

But then morning comes too soon, and you see me out that damned door of yours again. You hug me, and I cling to you longer than I probably should. I breathe you in. I daydream about kissing you.

So here I am on the train back home early in the morning. It's still dark outside, the stars are still twinkling in the night sky, but I don't want to sleep. Instead I read your Facebook updates on my phone. You don't ever mention me. Why would you? I am your dirty little secret as much as you are mine. As I sit on this bench, my bum all hot and abused, I want to go back to you. I want it again. I want it harder. I kind of want to turn back time and not go into that damned park with you. The truth is:

I want _more_. Much more. So much more.

Damn.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A huge thank you to all of you reading this.**

**mcc101180 is my beta (though I wrote some of this without her approval). Please don't hit me. I need you :)  
><strong>

**Bnjwl: motorboat!**

**Kyla: please, get better soon.**


	6. October 1st EPOV

**I don't own Twilight.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>When We Meet<strong>_

_**Part II**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Edward<strong>_

_**October 1st**_

I'm too old for this shit.

Jesus... I'm thirty-two years old and attending a teenage party. It's ridiculous. The pick-up lines these boys use didn't even work back when I was their age. Which feels like an eternity ago. It would be funny, except it's not. I'm not amused at the moment. Bored is more like it. Slightly pissed even. And if anyone calls me "dude" one more time, I will flip my shit.

Sitting here outside of the party, chain-smoking, listening to the muted bass thumping through the heavy concrete walls, I contemplate leaving early. That is until the backdoor swings open with a resounding smack. It's Alice. A friend - kind of. She's fun and energetic, but even she won't be able to lift my mood. I just want to go home and iron my shirts or something – and I'm about to do so – when _you_ stumble through the door.

Slightly buzzed obviously. Bright eyes and shaky knees.

I should've known you'd be here, too. Alice is attached to your hip, or so it seemed, lately. I know you, or know _of_ you is more like it. You're good friends with some of my friends. I've seen you around before occasionally. Mostly at parties. And usually there's a line of drooling boys standing behind you. I don't get the appeal. You're cute, yeah, but not my type. Too tiny, too skinny, too brunette. Frankly, you always seemed like kind of a bitch to me. Unattainable. Above it all. When you're not sitting alone in a corner, watching things around you like a hawk, you're too loud, too drunk, too touchy-feely with random guys. Too easy... I think. Maybe it's a bit presumptuous of me to think of you that way when we haven't even had a conversation. Ever. Just a nod of recognition here and there.

I look at you twice tonight. Up and down, I scan you.

Today, you look different to me somehow.

Damn, I have to admit: you _are_ cute. You're wearing bright red, shiny sneakers with big, red bows on them. They practically scream at me to look at you. And I do. For quite some time. Black tights clad your skinny legs that – despite your tininess – seem to go on for miles. Ridiculous. A super cute black dress with small, white cherries sprinkled all over it completes your outfit. And I want to punch myself for even thinking of your dress as "super cute." How very metrosexual of me. Cue inner vomit.

Your huge black framed glasses make you appear sophisticated and wild at the same time. I like your long shiny brown hair that you wear in a ponytail today. It reaches the middle of your back, and I want to yank on it. Hell, you dress like you just robbed a Hello Kitty store, but it makes me smile. Besides your clothes malfunction, you look as bored as I feel or maybe even a little pissed off, too. I wonder what has your panties in such a bunch.

When your huge brown eyes find me, there's recognition showing in them. A nod and instantly your eyes are on the ground again. You're fidgeting. I guess I'll stay just a few more minutes. See where this is going.

Chatting with Alice is the usual blast, but I try to make it short, try to involve you more in our conversation. I want to talk to you, but you're awfully quiet. Stubbornly so. When Alice randomly mentions a fetish club she wants to go to, your head shoots up in lightning speed and your eyes find mine in a flash. For a second, it feels like you just saw into my soul, before you lower your head again. It confuses me. You don't look like the type to be interested in such things. Neither does Alice by the way, but your reaction intrigues me more. Is that a blush on your cheeks? Busted. Did Alice just strike a chord? Or are you actually shy? Maybe even a prude?

I want to find out. Now.

You give me a reason to stay a little bit longer. When I make an offhanded comment about that club not being your thing, you put your feet in my lap. Almost kicking me in the process. I'm startled at first. Your casual display of coziness is new to _me_, but I know already that you're touchy when buzzed. I've witnessed it before, so I let them rest there, trying to ignore the warmth you're radiating.

_Don't judge a book by its cover_, you tell me once Alice is gone, bored with this strange atmosphere surrounding us. It's just a small whisper, but I hear you, and I get it. I do. Indications are not enough, though, I want you words. Unbeknownst to me why, but I need your words.

Your words, however, are a punch to the gut. Seriously? You're seeking out Doms online? Are you for real? That shit is dangerous. I just heard you mention Fetlife, and my alarm bells went off. I know it's not easy to find a match, vanilla or not, but online? You've got to be kidding me. Never mind that I don't know you, or thought you were a bitch before, but suddenly you seem too sweet to me, too fragile, too anything to take that risk. To top it all off, you admit to having no experience whatsoever in that certain area. Jesus! I want to punch some sense into you. Literally.

I don't know how or when or why, but I find myself switching into dominating mode easily with you. For whatever reason, I have to test this feeling in my gut, so I steer you into a nearby park, away from this party. I kind of want to help you figure things out, plus my dick has been hard since you stumbled halfway drunk through the door. God knows, you're not my type, but these goddamn bows on your shoes are driving me nuts.

I'm not sure you know what's on my mind right now; not even after I asked you a million times if you trusted me... it's worth a try. Your dress is driving me crazy, and I want to yank on your ponytail so hard. Bitch or not, I want to yank on it. Over and over. And then some more.

Your willingness astounds me. There's not much to do on my part, other than to put my Dom voice on and guide you by your skinny arm away from the crowd. You're following me without resistance. Your eyes as wide as if you're a deer caught in headlights.

This has to be super quick, since people are walking by every few minutes. No time for cuddling, as I tell you in my deepest voice:

_Brace your hands against the tree, arch your back, stick your ass out. _

When you obey – pretty fast for a newbie I might add – I waste no time yanking your dress up and your tights down along with your panties. Despite how fast I get rid of those obstacles, I still notice the black lacy fabric of your panties, and I still manage to get a feel of its softness. It feels divine. Judging by your weird clothing style, I expected you to wear pastel-colored Hello Kitty panties, not this peace of lacy heaven.

I might be slightly buzzed, but I wonder if this is really the first time you've submitted to anyone. The way you stand perfectly still, albeit on slightly shaky legs, with your back arched so beautifully, your naked ass waiting, has my hand twitching with impatience. But I suppress that urge. I want you to get used to my touch first, and really, I kind of want to feel your skin, see if it's as soft as it looks.

It does. Like a peach.

The first slap I deliver takes you by surpise. Your breath hitches, a few heartbeats follow and then you... moan. Rather loudly. The sound that comes out of your own mouth obviously startles you, and to be honest, me as well. That sound, however, doesn't fail to tighten my pants in the front.

But no matter how arousing your sounds are to me, this is not about me. It's about you. Only you. I'm just here to help you figure things out. And when I run my fingers between your tights and feel the wetness there, I think you, too, have figured it all out already. It's crystal clear. After just one slap. And if that's not a dead giveaway, your moans after each following slap I deliver sure as hell are.

I could do this for hours – spank your little ass and stroke it better. Over and over again. With one eye on our surroundings and one eye on your reactions, I glide my hands under your dress and up until I find your breasts. Perky. Your nipples are hard. I pinch them tight, pull them hard. The long breath you exhale tells me all I need to know, so I do it again and again until your legs are trembling. And then I just hold your breasts in my palms and feel your heart hammering beneath them. When I think you can't take any more strikes, I get a condom out. After all it's not just pain I want to give you; no, I want you to feel pleasure, too, and make this a memorable experience for you.

I glide into you, and damn, it feels good. Even better when I spank your cheeks in between each thrust. You're moaning too loudly, though, so I have to shush you. I have to shush myself, too, but I keep thrusting and spanking until I feel you shaking hard. I'm so lost in you that I don't recognize at first that you're sobbing and whispering, _stop, stop, stop_.

Immediately, I pull out and turn you around, look into your eyes as the tears drop. I feel panicky at first, afraid I've crossed a line, pushed you too far, but I'm relieved when I see the sweetest smile on your lips and a bright spark in your eyes behind those big, fat tears.

Aw hell, it was a bit much for you, I guess. So I pull you into my arms and hug you tightly, stroke your back, smell your hair. Ugh. It smells like summer. Smells like... NO!

You've been such a good girl for your first scene that you deserve a little cuddling. It's not my style, usually and it feels pretty odd to me, but it's what I'm supposed to do in situations like this. Reassurance. Grounding you. You get yourself under control pretty fast, and we put our clothes back on. I still keep a close eye on you as we're casually smoking a cigarette. Your hands tremble and your breathing is still a bit fast. There is a light in your eyes now that hasn't been there before.

Is it weird, the little things I notice about you now - after a little action behind some trees? I mean it's not like this was the best sex of my life.

Apparently not, as my mouth tells you to look me up on Facebook.

Huh.

On my way home my knees are kind of weak.

Weird.

Must be the beer.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**Mel (mcc101180) is my beta and I luv her.  
><strong>


	7. October 10th EPOV

**I don't own anything Twilight.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>When We Meet<strong>_

_**Part II**_

_**Edward**_

_**October 10th 2011**_

* * *

><p>It's Monday.<p>

Five minutes to 8 PM.

_You_ should be here any minute now, but my doorbell can't seem to ring soon enough. Time's ticking awfully slow today. Of course it's not every day that I get a visitor like you.

That's not exactly true.

I do have that other woman, my best friend Tanya to be precise. I used to spank her every other day, but we don't see each other as often anymore – at least not for the purpose of bruising her ass. Actually she was the one that got me into the whole D/s thing a couple of years ago. Purely by accident. We were just screwing when I slapped her ass lightly – all in good fun – and then she demanded I do it again, but this time harder. Well... needless to say, things developed from there. D/s is not my lifestyle, though. I don't have a fully stocked dungeon nor do I wear leather pants or lead crawling women around by leashes. D/s is a sexual preference for me. Nothing more, nothing less.

I look at my watch again.

The mere thought of having _you_ here soon has my hands twitching in anticipating. The mere thought of handling your delicate body how I see fit raises a massive tent in my pants. It's like I'm an inexperienced, giddy teenager all over again, and I don't even know what it is about you that has me so excited. Then again, it is always exciting to be with someone new, figure out what makes them tick... moan… and scream. Until I get bored. Which happens pretty fast. Usually.

I take a couple of deep breaths, and will my hard-on down, as I think of last week and how our arrangement began.

When I woke up that Saturday after the party, I logged into Facebook. It's a routine for me, and seeing your friendship request there first thing in the morning made me smile. I told you to look me up, and you did. You even sent me a message: _Thank you, _it said. Plain and simple, but very much appreciated. You wrote that very early, too – considering we stayed pretty late at the party or rather in the park – and I wondered if your sore ass woke you up. I wondered if you smiled from ear to ear because you could still feel the impact of my hands on your ass. Maybe your cheeks even showed purple marks shaped just like them...

I gave you my cell phone number and told you that a repeat performance would be welcome. Somehow I knew you'd be back for more – judging by the fire in your eyes after we were done playing – and you will. In approximately four minutes. If all goes well, I will show you exactly what kind of pleasure you can experience from pain, but this time there will be no rush because of people walking by. I plan on taking my time, starting slowly. You're a newbie after all, and the first text message I received from you made that crystal-clear. You were practically begging me to spank you again. The endorphin high had worn off. The marks had healed. The soreness is gone. You're in a frenzy, and I'm quite willing to help you out in that department.

I don't know yet what I will gain from this arrangement exactly, other than to give my twitching hand something to practice on... And if the last time and your moans are any indication, you'll be able to take quite a lot of my hands in the future. Yes, for some reason, I'm already planning various future meetings in my mind. The glimpses I had at this different side of you simply intrigue me. You can easily tear any douche bag a new one with a few eloquent words and a bitch brow. You seem superior in every way, yet you submitted to me so naturally and took the strikes so bravely. It was astonishing. I wanted to do that again as soon as I left you standing there by that tree. That kind of longing feeling didn't go away entirely, not until I told you later that week to come over today, told you to bring your toys – anything that might be useful – and you agreed. Of course, I tell myself that I don't want you searching out some wannabe Dom via the internet – which I truly don't – but also, _I_ want to spank you. Again and again. And if that means the hassle of you having to stay the night, because you don't live in the city, then by all means, bring your pajamas.

Three minutes to 8 PM...

There's nothing left for me to do now other than pace around in my living room. I've cleaned my apartment, stocked my fridge, made a playlist for our playtime, and thought of many dirty but delicious things I could do to you. I am prepared like a fucking boyscout, and yet here I am nervously waiting for you. As if I had a girlfriend over for the first time. And just to be clear: I don't do the girlfriend thing. Haven't in a long time and certainly not now. I like my freedom and diversity just fine, thank you very much. Even the faintest memory of my ex-girlfriend sends shivers down my spine, and not the good kind.

As if you could read my mind, you choose this second to ring my doorbell. Fucking finally.

There's some construction going on in the hallway downstairs, and apparently the door is locked. I have to snicker when I imagine your tiny frame trying to push the massive door open in vain. The bitch brow decorating your face...

Even from a distance, I can see you clearly through the glass window in the door. The street lights bathe you in a cozy orange light on this freezing autumn night. You're oblivious of me, don't see me through the window just yet, and that gives me the chance to look at you – all bundled up in some kind of fluffy white, knitted coat. Its huge hood flows like water down your head and hides most of your face, but your long brown hair is hanging out – a stark contrast to the innocent white. And sure enough, the big red bows came out to play. Seriously, I love those sneakers.

You look deep in thought and then startled as I yank the door open. It wasn't locked at all, but I won't ever tell you this. Besides I'm too distracted by the look on your face.

Fear, uncertainty, anticipation and excitement, it all shows in your eyes and flushed cheeks. Though the latter might just be from the cold. I guess I have to make the first move, since you seem rooted to your spot, incapable of forming words, huge brown eyes zeroing in on my … tank top clad chest? Adorable how shy you can look when I know you're anything but. Our exhibitionistic actions in a public park are proof enough.

Two steps and I pull you into my arms, hug you briefly yet tight.

Welcome. Enjoy your stay.

I know I will.

– _**w – w – m –**_

Pony tail, skinny jeans, bright red belt with a huge fucking bow on it, short black blouse with a gazillion tiny white hearts, and Hello Kitty socks.

You're killing me. Literally.

Even though you're dressed like a little girl, you manage to accentuate your curves perfectly. Last time, I only saw parts of your body naked, meaning your butt, but still that was a sight to behold. Tonight, I plan on ripping those damn clothes to shreds. Tonight, I plan on testing your limits – only a bit. You just don't know it yet, as we make light chit chat on my couch - how have you been, what have you been up to, blah blah blah. From your rigid posture, I can tell you might need this, need some time to acclimate. It's still awkward – finding a mundane topic to talk about. We're pretty much strangers after all. No matter how easygoing and open-minded I am, my whole distraction or trying to get you comfortable thing doesn't seem to work with you.

Change of plans.

"So tell me, how did you like my hands on your ass last time?" Huh... that does the trick, and your face lights up like a Christmas tree. Some of the tension is leaving your shoulders.

"Very much."

The timidness in your voice and the fact that you can't look me in the eyes tells me I have to spell things out for you. Okay. No problem. I can accommodate. My follow-up questions only receive two word answers, too, so I ask you what your concerns are, what's bothering you about the whole thing.

"I guess I just don't know how to act – when our scene starts, you know?"

Yeah, I do. I was a newbie once, too.

"Whenever I give you the first command. You'll catch it, I'm sure."

Mainly because my voice drops a whole octave and I'm not being very subtle about my commands. Short and direct instructions that leave no room for arguments. When I tell you to show me the toys you brought, the pink on your cheeks darkens to a deep fiery red, but you hand over a vibe and some clothes pins with a fake brave expression. For fucks sake! We did it in a park, for everyone to see, and here you are, all embarrassed about things that are perfectly natural. It's not like you pulled a strap-on out of your purse. _That_ would have been a deal breaker for sure, but this girly looking vibe of yours is certainly not. I try to show you that it's all good, that I know how to handle a device like this, but nothing, absolutely nothing seems to ease your embarrassment, nothing seems to loosen you up, so I figure, what the hell...

"Go to my closet, stand with your back against it."

This right here is my first command. You catch up fast, like I knew you would, but the few steps to your goal show some hesitance. Not an option, usually. I let it slide. Just for today. Just because you're new to it and obviously not the loose, wanton girl I took you for.

I follow quietly behind you, as you cautiously put one foot before the other, take your shoulders into my hands and guide you. Back straight, legs together. You don't know what to do with your hands as you lean with your back against the closet. Always twitching, balling them to fists, then letting them hang loose by your sides. Twitching again.

"Now strip. Slowly."

And again with your twitching hands. They don't seem to know where to start. Blouse first? Jeans first? You settle on the blouse. Though you do it slowly – just like I told you – I grow impatient and decide to help with your jeans. Tricky belt. Even trickier pants. Damn complicated buttons and rusty zipper. Must be your favorite pair of jeans. I yank them off as you eventually get rid of your top.

Speechless is what I am when I see you in underwear, seeing most of your body bare for the first time. Black bra and matching panties. Hipsters. Or whatever they are called. Lace and ruffles everywhere. Damn! The bra is of the push-up variety. Still I know that your tits are perfect, just the right size and firm as well. I fondled them the last time. I can hardly wait to see them now. Your stomach is smooth and flat, but not muscular. It looks so soft I want to bury my head in it. You're a slender little thing with skin so pale and flawless like a porcelain doll. Narrow hips, cute tight ass clad in see-through panties with bows on them. Of fucking course. The only disturbing things are those ridiculous socks that reach up to your knees. Hello Kitty with a candy cane. What a buzz kill. Not the cane, mind you. They still have to go. One by one, I take your feet and pull them off.

There. All better.

With my hands on your hips, I turn you around, facing the closet, pulling your hands high above your head and place your palms to the surface.

"Keep them there."

I trail my hands softly along your neck, across your back and down, down, down to your ass, leaving goose bumps in their wake and a trail of your bra and panties on the floor.

I've seen a lot of women naked in my days, but no one, absolutely no one, can compete with your stunning body. I put my chin on your left shoulder and breathe you in for a minute. The smell of your skin is divine, and it gives me the chills. The good kind.

A few light slaps with my bare hand to your butt make you breathe a little faster. A few hard tugs on your nipples and the breath starts to catch in your throat. Standing to your side, I guide my left hand from your nipples, down to where your desire is already showing on the insides of your thighs. I start to stroke you softly, but my spanking never stops. Each slap is followed by a soft stroke along your already pink backside. Each slap is followed by your moan so quiet it's hard to hear. Soon you're drenching my left hand in your juices, making it easy to rub your clit in however way I want. I'm teasing you, stroking so softly you can barely feel my fingers. Your task of standing still becomes harder and harder by the minutes and you start rocking your hips back and forth, trying to ride my hand. That earns you a resounding smack and the loss of a hand to grind on. Little whimpers of protest fill the room.

"You want more?"

The eager nod of your head tells me all I need to know. I am prepared for that moment, prepared for you wanting more, and I'm willing to push your limits just a bit further right now. This little velvet belt I have is perfect for that. It's thin but oh so stingy. Perfect for introducing you to a slightly harsher pain and creating a lovely red pattern of welts on your ass.

The louder your moans, the harder I strike your ass. I make sure to run my hands softly around it – spreading the pain, the warmth – every now and then. I squeeze your nipples. I slap your ass and I stroke it all better. When I see you wriggling your butt – flinching away from my little belt – and hear your little whines, I know you've had enough. Your ass is a lovely shade of red now and I can't stop myself from biting it, earning me a high-pitched shriek. The sight of your bruised backside is so damn arousing, I can't even wait another heartbeat to be inside of you. I guide you to my couch.

"On the couch. On your back"

I take a minute to appreciate the sight of you there – all starry-eyed and trembling heat. It's not the position I'd usually want you in – on all fours – I decide as I get rid of my shirt, jeans and underwear. You look at me with your big brown eyes, watch my every move like hawk. I make a note to blindfold you the next time, as I settle on the couch, between your legs, condom in place. Both of your legs are thrown over my shoulders in no time, and I position myself at your entrance. You're so slick, and whenever I look at you, the deep pools of your eyes are fixated on mine. For some reason, I can't take this. It's too much, too intimate, and not enough at the same time.

To my utter shame, I last about two seconds, but still somehow manage to make you come. You're messing with my head and my performance as well. I want to bitch-slap you for that, but I check your fine ass for unusual bruising instead. Your ass is fine indeed.

To my utter irritation, I don't really know what to talk to you about when we're done playing, so watching TV it is. After only two encounters with you, I can read your body language better than my own, but finding the right topic for conversation is like looking for a needle in a haystack with you. At least there is a smile on your lips throughout the rest of the evening.

To my utter surprise, I like having you stay the night. Even if you're awkwardly curled up at my feet, looking like a shrimp. I like the little sounds you make in your sleep and how you sneakily manage to steal my blanket in the middle of the night. I steal it right back, though.

To my utter shock, I sort of want you back here as soon as I close the door behind you the next morning.

Fuck.

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><p><strong>AN **

**I don't say this often enough: a huge thank you to everyone reading / reviewing.**

**WWM: This chapter is the last repetitive one. We'll be moving forward from where Bella left off. I don't like repeating myself very much. **

**MLTY: For those of you, who haven't given up on the Captain yet, there will be a new chap soon(ish). **

**mcc101180 is my beta and the bestest in the whole wide world. I'm sorry for the persistent comma abuse. **


	8. November 29th EPOV

_**I don't own Twilight.**_

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><p><strong>When We Meet<strong>

**Edward**

**November 29th 2011**

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><p>Five times.<p>

Five fucking times!

That's exactly the number of times you've already slept next to me – with your heat persistently lingering long after you've left for work the next morning. It still feels unusual to me. New. Exciting. A tad frightening. Doesn't stop me from looking closely at you just now, studying you, as you're lying all curled up next to me on the couch. In your tiny, oh-so-fucking-tiny sleeping shorts with those little red hearts and blue anchors on them. They hug your ass cheeks so tight, calling out to me to rip them off and take you again.

You continue to drive me kind of nuts with your wardrobe, and I don't even know exactly at what point you started bringing sleeping shorts with you, but I guess it's reasonable. Hanging around in our underwear after playtime would be, well... for lack of a better word... awkward. Or not. I'm not sure. When it comes to you, _nothing_ is how it's supposed to be.

You fell asleep a few minutes ago while watching TV with me. Exhausted and utterly satisfied from our recent activities. At least I should hope so, because my hand is on fire, and my wrist is pleasantly sore. My heart is still racing a bit. When I see the little smile on your face as you're sleeping, with your bare legs tucked under you, breathing steadily and deeply, I know I did my job right, but my mind starts to wander to things I'd rather not think about. To all those quirky, adorkable things about you that are so sweet and maddening at once:

The way you're always on time – never a minute late or early – and I still wonder how you manage that. The way you always bring your own beverages, never taking anything of mine. No sweets, no snacks, no coffee in the mornings, since you're always gone when I wake up, leaving no trace of you behind except your warmth on my pillow. The way you push your glasses up your nose with your forefinger when they threaten to slide down. There is a book peeking out of your purse every time we meet, and it's always a new one – ranging from classic literature to erotic novels. I guess this is why you're so smart. Though we don't talk for hours, sharing our innermost secrets, I can tell that you're a clever thing – sometimes intimidatingly so. It's there in the little things you say. Mostly I enjoy our mutual silence, enjoy that you don't feel the need to fill every second with mindless chatter. But at times, I find myself wishing you'd just spill a few of your secrets, or at least tell me what you had for lunch.

In any case, I feel quite comfortable in silence. With you. This is the one thing that doesn't feel odd at all about you being here already _five fucking times_.

My eyes scan over your body, watching your chest rise and fall with every breath you take. I see your fingers twitch slightly and goose bumps appear on your visible skin. Automatically, I grip the blanket from behind my couch and drape it over you. I've done that before. _Five fucking times_ to be exact. A frown appears on your face, and it reminds me of the times you used to frown before just now, which was usually when I overwhelmed you, when you were puzzled about my commands, or most importantly... when you would come... hard. As if you couldn't quite believe I'm capable of doing that to you.

Strangely, the deepest frown I'd received was when I put my face really close to yours, holding you by the neck with one hand, squeezing, tugging or slapping your nipples with the other. It was such a tame thing compared to all the shit we do, but it made you tremble and hold your breath like nothing else. In those moments – you being all flustered when you're usually captain of the cool kids – I wonder if you ever think about kissing me. Do you actually want my lips on yours? Do you wonder how it would feel? Do you wonder as much as I do how it would feel?

I never gave you an explanation as to why I'm not kissing you at all per se, but I guess you figured that one out all on your own by now. Doesn't matter how tempted I might be occasionally – seeing those soft, full pink lips of yours that seem to be pouting all the time – this kind of intimacy is strictly for a girlfriend, and when our agreement began, I wasn't sure you could handle this casual relationship, no strings attached, especially when you asked me if I could give you a tight hug after we were done playing. It would help you come down from the high, you said. I'm not the cuddly type of man, but even I understand the importance of human touch, so I agreed. I just never thought it would help me come down as well – holding your naked, tender body in all its fragile looking glory. As short as I keep those hugs, they feel... nice.

Then there is what I call your lightbulb frown. It appears when you come to realize you really do like the filthy stuff we do, even if you never thought you would but were willing to try anyway.

It starts out like your normal frown – brows scrunched up a little, nose wrinkled a fraction, looking puzzled like a kid in a toy store that doesn't know which one to pick first – then the pupils in those deer eyes of yours dilate to a maximum, and finally the sweetest of all smiles follows, often accompanied by a low moan that never fails to make me hard as a rock and leaking like a broken faucet.

That special kind of frown appeared the first time I lightly slapped your cheek for looking me in the eye, when you knew very well not to. It showed up the first time I wrapped my hands around your throat, squeezing just a little, feeling your pulse hammering beneath my hands as I was fucking you so good. The first time I used my leather belt on you, when all you knew was my bare hand thus far.

That special kind of frown returned November 7th 2011 in full force.

Only one month after our first encounter, we had already established a routine. 8:00 PM on the dot, bring your lovely ass and whatever toys you want me to use on you. And thank fuck the package you ordered had finally arrived. I must admit, I was a little excited when you told me you ordered a suede flogger online since I had never used a device like that before on anyone. It also took a lot of encouragement and inventiveness on my part to get you to do it, too. The night I spanked you with a leftover Halloween plastic saber will forever be a fond memory in my mind. Of course you didn't know what I spanked you with at the time, as I had you blindfolded, but you could sure tell the difference – the different sound it made when it landed on your ass, the different impact it had on it. I was feeling a little silly that night, and the look on your stunned face was priceless as I showed you later with what exactly I had whipped you. We had a good laugh about it. You're just so damn easy going and adventurous, leaving me a free reign with my own imagination and desires, that it has me enjoy playing with you immensely.

Anyway, after our second or third date and carefully warming you up to the idea of bringing more toys, you finally believed that I don't judge, that you don't need to be ashamed of your needs. I understand it perfectly, and I actually encourage you to tell me about your fantasies. I'll maybe even make them come true. And then finally, finally you opened up to me.

So there you were on November seventh as you sat all giddy on my couch, barely able to contain yourself. Bright eyes, flushed cheeks and twitching hands. Your excitement was adorable and absolutely contagious. It made me cut the small talk short rather rudely so you could show me that flogger STAT. It wasn't what I expected at all. I don't know _what _I thought you'd pick... maybe something pink. Hell, I half feared Hello Kitty's face to pop up and greet me.

A very elegant looking toy was certainly not what I estimated. That small, black device with its steel handle and about thirty black suede straps, each about eight inches long, felt just right in my hands. Heavy, but not overly so. The straps with their soft texture were perfect for soft strokes and sharp stings as well. After a few test swings to my own arm – which fucking hurt – I decided to put you out of your misery and sent you off to the bathroom. Since that thing had you slightly panting alone from the sight of it, I could only imagine what it would do when it was actually being used.

When you returned to me, naked, nipples hard enough to cut diamonds, practically screaming to be tugged, I decided I wanted you kneeling in my revolving chair again, facing the backrest, your butt sticking out at just the right height for me. You hate that position, and that was exactly why I wanted you in it. I wanted you to concentrate on your posture, to arch your back, to feel each muscle strain in your body. With your hands braced on the back rest, your thighs wide enough apart to give me free access, I started to gently let the straps wander from your neck down to your butt and back up again. Soft as a feather. It didn't take long for you to start breathing faster and your wetness to glisten between your legs. The train ride here was foreplay enough I guess, knowing there was a new toy in your purse waiting to make acquaintance with your flesh. I know I was hard all day just thinking about you being here, bringing a new toy.

In between strokes, I tugged your nipples, rolled them hard with my thumb and forefinger. You liked that very much, rewarding me with little moans each time I did. I didn't need to put my hand between your legs to know that your clit was already swollen with desire, but I did it anyway to tease you, using only the tip of my finger, sliding through your wet flesh, to work you up, stoking over and over, barely applying pressure at all. Feeling your little nub made me think about going down on you, tasting you, feeling every inch of you with my tongue. I won't. Just like kissing, it's something that only girlfriends get from me. Does that make me a hypocrite, since I like you going down on me, love it when I make you choke on my cock? Probably. Doesn't change the facts, though. You're not my girlfriend, and though I'm excited beyond belief for hours before you even enter my apartment, you're not my type. Honestly. I guess... Or well... ugh. You're driving me insane. So much that I even thought about actually going down on you that night.

Lost in my own musings, I nearly missed that you were at the brink of coming, your legs shaking, your moans getting louder and more frequent, so I removed my hand. But it's not like you were not allowed to come. Quite the contrary. You may come whenever and how often you can; I enjoy it. I'm not one of those guys who needs to give you permission for every single thing, and based on your reaction when I made you come for the first time, I knew you hadn't been blessed with many orgasms anyway, at least not provided by a man. That unbelieving look in your eyes told me everything I needed to know, making actual words unnecessary. I want you to enjoy yourself as much as you can. You're so obedient already, never looking me in the eyes during sessions, when I only had to tell you once and a tiny slap as a reminder. You've been my good girl from the get-go. The other upside to your obedient sweet little butt is that I don't need to worry about blindfolding you to keep you from peeking at what I plan to do next, which made it easy to surprise you as I brought the flogger down hard on your ass, the slap echoing within my apartment walls. Sadly, the sound was worse than the effect was. I expected you to climax upon the first smack, but when I saw that frown on your face – and not the good frown – I knew I had to step up my game. Twenty exhausting minutes and one very sore arm later, that not so cheap flogger started to fall to pieces, loose straps flying everywhere. It left your ass cheeks red all right, but otherwise you looked as frustrated as I felt.

What a disappointing investment.

The leather belt had to come out again. And with the first hard slap, a loud moan and your lightbulb frown including its follow-up smile appeared. It was the moment we both realized how much you like the pain, the harsh sting only my belt can provide. Your whole body shuddered in delight, and from my position beside you, I could see those soft lips had formed into a full-on smile.

With a bright smile like that and your ass cheeks a glowing red – like a beacon in the night – I had to take you right there. No more foreplay, no more spanking, no more tugging your nipples. Just me pushing into you roughly from behind.

Just thinking about November seventh has me hard as a rock next to your sleeping form. When I think about earlier this night, my heart beats unusually fast. The sight of you on all fours on my floor, wrists and ankles tied together, your ass high in the air with its rosy cheeks...

I turn off the lights and make myself cozy next to you.

Tomorrow is a new day.

But tomorrow, I know I will still feel weird waking up alone.

Tomorrow, I'll figure out what exactly it is about you that has my mind spinning.

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><p><strong>AN: **

**I apologize for the long wait.**

**Thank you, Mel, for everything. **


	9. January 10th EPOV

_**I don't own Twilight.**_

* * *

><p><strong>When We Meet<strong>

**Edward**

**January 10th 2012**

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><p>Mother fucking Facebook.<p>

Fucking people who feel the need to share everything with the whole world – unfortunately including me.

Some things just can't be made un-seen, you know?

Some things are forever branded into your retinas.

Whether you want it or not. No amount of bleach poured into my eyes can change the fact that I just suffered a visual stroke or something like that.

My heartbeat is out of control – that is for sure.

So...I guess you had a lovely New Years Eve party, huh? The pictures posted all over FB by our mutual friends sure prove it. A million pictures of you smiling brightly into the camera, clad in a low-cut black dress, with its thin straps and damn curves hugging shape. Your lips are painted blood red, the same red as your peep toe high heels. Smokey eyes, shiny hair. I'd say you look absolutely stunning, but I won't, because each picture shows you with a different guy. Some random guy after another either chatting you up, hugging you, kissing your cheek, or dancing with you. They don't really bother me – as they look way out of your league anyway. I know you know a lot of people.

A dick magnet is what you are.

At least that's what rumor says.

No, what bothers me the most is the _one_ guy kissing you full on your shiny, so velvety looking red lips. Though you seem somewhat taken aback, the two of you would make a stunning couple. Dude looks good with his longish dirty blonde curls tied into a ponytail, the sides of his head shaved short, and that rocker/bum look he's sporting. He's tagged as Jasper Whitlock. Pfffft – what a douchy name. Even douchier is the fact that he appears in tons of other pictures with you looking damn cozy at your side. Too cozy for my liking! Though I'll continue to fight that obnoxious feeling with all my might, I won't give in to it.

But then...

Of course, there's you ringing my bell right this moment – interrupting the interesting slide show I'm having here.

Fuck, is it 8:00 PM already?

Time flies when you're Facebook stalking.

Apparently I looked at these pics for over an hour.

I buzz you in and when you take a seat on the couch next to me, you smile as brightly as the sun, or at least as brightly as you did in those pics with douchy guy. You ask me if I had a nice Christmas. I really don't feel like chatting now and with each passing minute I have to keep up the charade of being aloof, as my mood sinks from bad to worse. Not yours though, as you tell me how long it's been since we saw each other last with a twinkle in your dark brown eyes- I occasionally get lost in them– three weeks you inform me. I am lost until you clarify that is the amount of time since we had seen each other, I nod with acceptance.

I'm surprised it hadn't been longer with the holidays and what not. My studies and work have been crazy, too. I wanted to invite you over here last week already, but Irina and Kate happened and now I desperately wish I had declined their gracious offer. I don't know what came over me and I don't really know why my voice sounds harsh and irritated when I tell you that I spanked the two girls last Wednesday in a three hour session.

I might be trying to get some kind of reaction out of you, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them immediately. Especially when I see the look of defeat on your face. How your radiant smile fades in an instant, your eyes are now trained on the the floor, the deep frown, you try to mask it all with a tight lipped smile.

Fuck!

Why did I tell you this?

It's not like I slept with those ladies.

They're a lesbian couple for fucks sake and I just did them a favor. Similar to the favor I did for you a little over three months ago. Minus the sex of course. Has it been three months already since our agreement started?

Try as I might, I can't get the picture of you and that dude kissing you out of my head, granted it might have been that kind of kiss you give your granny on Christmas Eve, it still makes me furious, so I cut the whole bullshit short and act like nothing out of the ordinary is happening here – happening to me.

"Go freshen up," I command.

By now you know this is your cue to go to the bathroom, lose your clothes and come back to me naked. You'd know in your sleep that this is my first command, a command for you to simply obey, no more talking. Not that you ever talk much about anything anyway. What used to be a comfortable silence is now grating on my nerves like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

I just can't figure out why…but what really pisses me off more than anything is that I can't figure YOU out.

As usual you put your toys on my coffee table when you come back in all your naked, smooth skinned glory.

One vibe.

Four clothes pins.

Everything after that becomes a blur...

The way you're down on all fours in front of me. Ass up, face down...

The way my hand strikes your delicate skin... over and over and over again, leaving your ass fifty shades of rosy.

The two clothes pins that hang proudly on your delicate nipples, biting into your flesh...

The two clothes pins attached to your pussy...

The way you pant, squirm, and start to sweat when I run my hand softly down your back...

The way you look so helpless and fragile as I tie your wrists and ankles up...

The way you can hardly move with how tight I've bound you...

The way you shiver when I put my hand across your mouth and start pushing into you.

The way you fall apart beneath me as I call you 'my dirty little slut'...

The way I come so hard like never before when the voice in my head tells me I want this...

...forever.

FUCK.

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><p><strong>AN: i 3 bnjwl**


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